


Forgive Me Father (For I am Sin)

by Unusual_Raccoon



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Blasphemy, Doggy Style, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hair-pulling, I'm Going to Hell, Priest Oliver Queen, Religious Conflict, Rough Sex, Succubus Laurel Lance, Vaginal Sex, inappropriate use of an altar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29526225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unusual_Raccoon/pseuds/Unusual_Raccoon
Summary: There is a devil in Father Queen's house of worship, just not the one he preaches about.
Relationships: Earth-2 Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Forgive Me Father (For I am Sin)

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came to me yesterday morning and now seemed too fun not to write. Once again, I'm not anticipating a whole lot of fanfare over this type of thing, but, I thought I'd share it anyway.

Oliver Queen remained stalwart, hands folded comfortably in his lap as he patiently awaited the obscured figure on the other side of the confessional to speak. There was an enduring stretch of silence that blanketed the pair of them, joined by nothing but the soft sounds of their breathing. There was an intimacy that existed in the quiet exchange that permeated the normal relief of confessing one's sins. Still, he waited patiently, applying no pressure to the individual whose soul needed his ear.

"Bless me father for I have sinned..."

Oliver stilled at the familiar voice that breezed through the gaps in the confessional screen. A tremor of fear trickling down his spine, the feeling growing, spilling like blood from an open wound as silence grew once more. A sickening feeling curdling his blood at the realization that he had been here before, stricken down by this terrible unshakable fear, fear that weighed upon him like an anchor - an anchor that would surely drag him down to hell.

“Father?” The figure called, sounding so lost, so in need of guidance. Yet, no words left Oliver’s lips, no reassurance. This was his calling, shepherding the lost and forsaken, showing them love and patience when others would not. Still, Oliver felt a chasm in his chest, an emptiness where his virtue usually resided, he felt nothing, no sympathy, no understanding...only fear.

“Father, wouldn’t you like to hear my sins?” The figure asked once more and Oliver could do nothing but shake his head in rejection. This was his job, to unburden those that sought him out, to free them from the weight of their choices. But this...No, no he didn’t think he could stomach this. There were certain things even God couldn’t forgive. There was an eerie venom that seemed to hang on this stranger, this shadow’s words.

“But aren’t you supposed to save us?” The shadow asked knowingly, as though Oliver had voiced his thoughts aloud. Oliver shook his head once more, an uncomfortable jolt tingling along the back of his neck like the threatening rake of claws. No, this stranger couldn’t be saved, of that he was certain.

“Father…” The voice called, almost playful, almost cruel, “What are you afraid of?” The voice crooned, smothering a snigger as though the answer were so comical. Oliver felt dread burn hotly in his chest, having migrated up from his stomach to press against his sternum. His body ached in the cramped seat of the booth, which more acutely seemed like a coffin than a confessional. He felt trapped, muted and swallowed up in this endless darkness.

The silence became so still Oliver worried he might’ve died, until the figure on the other side suddenly yanked back the screen between them, wood splintering from the force. His heart would’ve hammered frantically had it not been charred to cinders by the potent poisonous dread in his chest. The figure vaulted over the open space, seizing the priest by his clothes.

Oliver stared up in horror at the stranger that loomed above him with a wide unnerving smile and cold eyes...the stranger that wore his own face.

“What’s the matter?” The shadow asked in a sneer, “Worried you’re beyond saving?”

Oliver bolted up with a gasp, heaving shaky breaths as he scrambled into a sitting position. His large frame practically spilled out of his narrow bed. His hand instantly clutching at the crucifix that dangled around his neck, his face screwed tightly in a pained expression as he regretfully muttered a prayer. Wiping away the sheen of sweat that clung to his skin unfortunately didn't relieve him of his pressing discomfort. It wasn't the first time he had been haunted by his actions while asleep, yet the familiarity didn't dull the impact of the dream. 

No, Father Queen suspected the weight of his sins would follow him until the day he died, no amount of confessions could wipe his slate clean.

\---

Laurel grinned as she watched the last of the night’s church goers depart through those heavy oaken doors. It had been a dull sermon indeed, they always were, but it wasn’t the word of God that kept her interest piqued. No, that particular feat was achieved by the man who preached them. The priest. The man of the cloth. Father Oliver Queen.

She watched from the shadows, the familiar darkness wreathing her like a silken gown, as the priest ambled about his empty church. He gathered abandoned bibles strewn through the pews, rearranging them to his liking. He even swept, something deliberately slow in his movements, like he was anticipating a visitor. Like he was refusing to be caught unawares. The thought made Laurel giddy.

Eventually though he wandered past the pulpit where he had spent the majority of the evening and toward the altar, kneeling down upon the stone floor with a sigh. He looked like a smear of ink from a distance, his broad back filling out that ugly black cassock beautifully. Laurel felt a pang of hunger gnaw at her as she watched the young priest tilt his head up toward the massive elaborately carved crucifix hanging above the altar. After listening to him day after day, Laurel supposed she would’ve grown tired of his voice, but she didn’t. Not even then as she listened to him beg for forgiveness. Her mouth grew wet with want as she drank in the supplicant requests from the man on his knees. So lovely, so tortured.

Slinking from the corner she had been tucked away in, her bare feet hardly making a sound against the cold stone floor. Laurel drew near, head tilted as she observed him, her hungry gaze lingering on those large hands of his clasped together in prayer. Sinking down into the space between his bent legs, Laurel felt the priest flinch where she molded herself to his back, her arms coming around him to hold him close. It was a mocking gesture that resembled intimacy.

“Demon…” He greeted, nearly pained in the way he acknowledged her presence. Laurel grinned against his nape, feeling him tremble vibrantly as though he locked a storm inside of his chest.

“Father…” She purred, feeling him tense in response, a reservation on his part that couldn’t have felt more disciplined. He didn’t shy away because he wanted to, he shied away because he knew he should, and the technicality made Laurel’s black heart sing.

“Have you missed me, Father?” Laurel asked with a giddy grin, watching as his head bowed down to stare at the floor beneath them in shame. He couldn’t bear to gaze up at that cross, not when she was around.

“No.” He said instantly, making her smother a husky, wanting, chuckle against his nape. She relished the feeling of his skin beneath her lips, the warmth, the power.

“Lying is a sin, Father.” Laurel chided, the hands splayed against his chest roving over him appreciatively, feeling the delicious bunch and coil of muscles, that had no business belonging to a priest, beneath her palms. She giggled at the thought, she supposed lying was the least of his transgressions when in her company. Then he scoffed, it was a bitter biting sound. She dragged her teeth against his skin, what of it she could reach while he was still clothed. She savored the feeling of his resulting shiver, the subtle way he tried not to lean into the touch she offered, though clearly wanted.

“So, answer truthfully this time, will you,” She teased, though before she could voice her question once more, the priest had turned to face her swiftly. The movement nearly sent Laurel toppling to the hard unforgiving stone, and she likely would’ve, were it not for the single hand clasped around her throat; simultaneously her savior and punisher. Laurel grinned up excitedly at the hard glare she was met with. She readily leaned into the warmth of his calloused palm where it clutched her neck.

“You did miss me.” She confirmed with a smirk, gasping as his grip tightened around her neck, he wouldn’t hurt her, he was a man of god after all. Laurel was pretty sure the bible said love thy neighbor, and they were practically roommates given that she had taken up residence in his lovely cathedral of old stone and stained glass. 

Laurel rose to the challenge his stubbornness afforded, not submitting to the ache of her hunger in her belly, even with her beloved priest glowering above her. No, no, she’d be patient though it pained her, the rewards of her efforts were always sweeter that way. The loathing she witnessed in his gaze gave her resolve. Planting her palms against the stone ground beneath her, Laurel pushed her weight into the circle of his hand curled around her throat. She could feel the warmth of his breath, could taste the potent tang of his desire as she leaned in closer toward the priest.

“I think Adam and Eve were right, Father,” Laurel proposed with shallow breath, unflinching as she remained suspended in his grasp, “Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest...wouldn’t you agree?” She asked in a sultry whisper. The demon grinned as the priest seemed to sway beneath her suggestion, a heavy need clouding his gaze as he stared at her. The blue of his eyes remained unblinking, unable to look away from her, mouth parting with a guttural sigh of want.

Laurel flashed a pout as he pushed her away with a shove, it wasn’t particularly hard or intended to cause harm, rather just put distance between the two. He sprang up from the floor, his palms braced against those beautiful thighs that she wanted to fit her head between. Then he paced across the floor, back and forth unmoved as Laurel rose up from the ground, draping herself in offering across the altar. She was the picture of temptation.

“You’re a poison.” Oliver announced, though refusing to look at her, which Laurel took no offense to. She knew he refrained from looking because the inclination would be too great if he did. No prey had ever been so...rewarding.

The succubus let out a silky laugh, leaning her head into her palm where she laid atop the altar. It was grotesque, defiling his house of worship the way she did, she knew that, but the realization didn’t make it any less fun.

“If I am a poison, Father, then why do you drink me so readily?” She asked in return, her teasing smile sharpening into a feral grin as he hung his head knowingly. A muscle in his jaw flexing beneath his skin as he no doubt gritted his teeth.

“Because I would rather poison myself than others…” He said in a strained voice, Laurel wasn’t sure even he believed that. He could disguise it any way he liked, but the things he did were not acts of selflessness. Laurel leaned back against the altar, humming thoughtfully as he continued to pace.

“Is that what you’re doing?” She asked with a giggle, dipping her fingers teasingly between her cleavage, trailing them down between her breasts.

“Sacrificing your virtue?” Laurel proposed with a grin, “Suffering so others don’t have to?” She continued, her eyes glued to his broad shoulders as moved back and forth aimlessly.

“Yes.” Oliver said after a moment, he sounded almost relieved, as though he could give a heroic name to things he did. It was endearing really.

“Then why do you enjoy it, Father?” The demon asked with a knowing smirk, there was no justification for that, nothing aside from the truth. Her smile widening as Oliver’s pacing finally stopped, his fingers worrying the beads of a rosary as he finally stared at her. He swallowed deeply, wetting his throat as he drank in the sight of her. Then his hand curled into a fist, knuckles blanched as that delicate string popped, the wooden beads of his ruined rosary clattering against the ground.

For a moment he said nothing, his broad shoulders rising and falling with every tortured breath, he just stared at her. His gaze following the path of her hand as it descended down her flat stomach, her thumb teasingly dipping into her navel, keen fingers igniting a wave of goosebumps across her flesh. It was pleasant, but not sustaining. She gasped at her own touch, lips parting in a smirk at the way her beloved priest lurched like a dog fighting against the tug of his leash.

When Oliver never replied, Laurel understood the silence he offered instead, understood the shame that colored him as marched on his path towards the altar. She felt nothing but vindication as her quarry drew near. It was impossible to imagine him as a servant to anything else but her, least of all God, as he curled his hands around her hips. His grip turned firm as he pulled her from her pedestal, they were nearly chest to chest for a fleeting moment before he turned her to face the stone table she had previously occupied. The hard edge dug into her stomach as Oliver forced her down against the surface, effectively bending her over. There was something so unbearably arousing about experiencing him ruining this holy place as she had.

  
  


Laurel let out a long moan of anticipation as she felt the warmth of him through the harsh material of his cassock where he pressed against her rear. She pushed back eagerly against him, urging the wanting, sinning side out of her beloved priest. Her appetite threatened to get the better of her as Laurel awaited him. She bucked more insistently as she heard the quiet jingle of his belt coming undone and then the equally subtle sound of his zipper. 

Then she  _ felt  _ him, the searing glide of mouthwatering flesh that burned hotter than the circle of Hell she normally inhabited. He prodded at her with the blunt tip of his cock, broad and beautiful where it unabashedly dipped between her weeping wet folds. Her nails bit into the smooth stone beneath them, gasping a delighted sound as he sank into her with a strained growl. The heady plunge of him splitting her open making her tingle from head to toe.

_ “Yes!”  _ Laurel exclaimed, her voracious appetite unfurling as the priest began to fuck her. His hips connecting with the plush swell of her rear, the sound echoing through the church, loud and obscene. Each jab of his cock into her thrust her forward against the hard edge of the altar, knocking the air straight from her lungs. She was panting and breathless as she took all that offered.

One heavenly calloused hand clasped at her hip while the other tangled in her long blonde hair, using his grip as leverage, each tug of her tresses sending a violent ripple of pleasure through her being. Laurel grinned as she felt the priest’s breath wash over her skin, she was lucky if she got so much as a grunt from the man, restrained even as he tarnished his pretty golden soul with a devil like herself.

Laurel rutted back against him, meeting each thrust he offered with one of her own, groaning as he tugged on his fistful of her hair, nearly prying her off of the altar. The grating scratch of his cassock against her skin making her tremble at the stimulation, the itch accompanied the ache he filled her with.

“You,” Laurel slurred, drunk on the pleasure he filled her so potently with, “You are cut from a different cloth, Father.” She giggled vibrantly, the sound melting into another cry of bliss that would put his choir to shame.

Laurel licked her lips, continuing to push back against him earnest, cunt fluttering in excitement at the flustered sound of his breathing. There was some fun in being able to seduce her beloved priest without the inclination of magic, especially in moments like these, every movement, every starved sound he made was entirely his own. She persisted, howling like a bitch in heat as she hungrily took every inch of his cock.

The grip on her hair tightened, cruelly tugging in a way that made her scalp throb, the potent tingle slithering between her legs, joining all other sensation he assaulted her terribly reactive nerves with. Laurel groaned as he drove into her welcoming heat, snug and elastic as it squeezed the large intrusion filling her up. The victory of tearing free another sound from her usually disciplined priest made her inner muscles contract around him excitedly.

It was hard, the way he stabbed his cock into her, again and again, brutal even. Laurel figured if she were human it might even hurt, but she wasn’t human, she was designed for pleasure - sinful, filthy, unholy pleasure...and that was what he gave her.

Oliver’s grip on her hip tightened and Laurel drooled happily at the prospect of being fed so soon, tongue hanging out of her agape mouth as he fucked her so well. She knew that in his own self-flagellating way that Oliver was enjoying himself, enjoying the feeling of being with her. Celibacy was an enigma to her and it was even more confusing as to why one would willingly subject themselves to such a torment, yet nothing was as sweet as the feeling of her priest breaking yet another vow.

  
  


“Does it feel good, Father?” She asked in warm electric purr, the kind that made his breathing stutter when he hurriedly crammed himself back inside of her. Fuck, that felt incredible. But of course he ignored her as he always had, he just tugged on her hair as he rolled his hips once more.

Laurel swallowed hungrily, looking for words and wit as he filled her, “Does it feel good?” She echoed, arching to meet the hot glide of his cock into her, “To sin with me?” Laurel asked, gasping when she was rewarded with another beautifully stinging pull of her hair. She would take that as a resounding yes. The steady canter of his hips slowed, the grip on her hair pulling her nearly flush against his chest, her back chafing when rubbed with the material of his cassock.

She was delirious with pleasure where she practically sat back on his cock, humming contentedly as she wiggled her hips back against him, feeling that glorious cock poke and nudge and fill all of the right places. The coarse burn of his facial hair against her skin made her writhe in delight at the intimacy of it all. The warmth of his breath washing over her skin made her shiver. Laurel stirred at the quiet sound of his voice, rocking back in earnest as she heard him muttering.

Reaching back, Laurel clasped a hand against the back of his neck, forcing his lips near her ear so she could drink in the divine sound of his voice. He didn’t stop his incessant muttering, hips still rocking against her rear, cock still punching into her weeping sex. The succubus exhaled a terribly wanting sound when she determined his muttering to be prayer… in  _ Latin _ .

“Fuck,” Laurel hissed, “Don’t stop.” She begged earnestly, feeling the draw of his imminent release deep within her being. She needed it, needed him.

“Louder,” Laurel demanded, her nails digging into the clerical collar he wore like a shackle, “I want your fucking God to hear you praying for forgiveness.” She groaned hungrily at the guttural sound of his rasped out prayers against her ear, ragged and breathless as he pumped into her.

Then everything stilled, the prayer, the movement, all of it. His breathing deepened to a sort of mournful sigh as Oliver slumped against Laurel’s back with a tremble as he reached his peak. It was heavenly, though the irony was not lost on the demon, as she felt his seed spill into her, so hot and so full of life. Her body leeching magical sustenance from his as Oliver still rode his completion. She’d never felt so full.

Laurel licked her lips as the sensation swelled through her, erotic and unholy and so very delicious. Turning to face her beloved priest, Laurel grinned as she leaned back against the unforgiving stone, taking in his flushed face and conflicted expression. She carefully took his face into her hands, watching as he bowed his head in shame.

“Oliver,” Laurel hummed, her voice thick with pleasure, though the sound of his name stirred him from his guilt, “That was amazing.” She said firmly, unwavering in her belief.

She frowned when the priest shook his head, cheeks hot and cock still nudging wantonly between her thighs.

“It was wrong.” He countered with a contrite frown of his own.

The succubus tilted her head back with a laugh, melting back against the altar with a fond smirk.

“If it was so wrong, if I am so foul a creature, then banish me - go on, send me back to Hell.” Laurel goaded as she observed the way her priest seemed to cower from the idea. She knew that though Oliver possessed the means to send her back to her misery and eternal torment in the underworld, he would never use the power he had for anything other than good...

“Or maybe...” Laurel drawled as she reached up lazily to tug at the stiff white collar around his neck, “You’ve grown fond of me…” She proposed, ridding him of that clerical collar, tossing it to join his ruined rosary. Oliver ducked his head, though the way he avoided her gaze was telling in itself.

The demoness grinned in triumph, maneuvering out from her spot pinned between the firm form of the priest and the hard stone of the altar.

“Where are you going?” She heard the priest call, his voice strained as though the real question he wanted to ask was just out of his reach.

“Away.” Laurel replied simply, the sound of his resulting sigh making her pause. “Isn’t that what you want, Father?” She continued, her voice sweetened with a feigned innocence.

“You tell me.” Oliver said after a moment, his piercing blue eyes stuck on Laurel. “You know my every desire, don’t you?” He prodded and Laurel couldn’t help the genuine smile that parted her lips.

“I do.” She replied haughtily.

“Then you tell me what I want.”

\---

It was the third Friday of the month which meant Oliver had spent most of his day helping out at a local soup kitchen in the Glades, rather than giving his usual sermon. It was good to be out of the church every once and a while to interact with the community around him. He was shrugging off the material of his casual sweatshirt as he climbed the stairs to the rectory above the main sanctuary.

Oliver hung the article on a rack by his bedroom door, pausing at the sight of a figure splayed upon the small bed tucked into a corner. A smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he carefully inched closer to the familiar figure.

“You know it’s cruel…” The demoness whined, rubbing a hand unabashedly between her thighs.

“What is?” Oliver asked knowingly as he pulled up a chair beside the bed, taking a seat despite the she-devil’s complaining.

“That you go off and feed others, but let me starve.” Laurel explained, her whine turning to a moan as she wriggled a finger inside of herself, the insatiable thing. Oliver felt the comfortable jeans he had worn while working in the soup kitchen, grow cramped when arousal stirred between his thighs. God forgive him.

“Starve?” Oliver echoed with a frown, his gaze dipped down to watch the way the succubus pleasure herself for naught. 

“Yes.” Laurel said with a pout, arching off the bed at the brush of his fingers.

“Well then, we’ll have to remedy that, won’t we?” Oliver asked with a smirk, watching as her eyes lit up at the prospect. He knew it was wrong, or perhaps that it was supposed to be wrong, but how could something so wrong, feel so right? And maybe his sins would carry him all the way down to hell, but if they did, he had a feeling the company wouldn’t be so bad.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Just realized I'm writing and posting this on Ash Wednesday... Welp, that's pretty fitting.
> 
> Obviously my intention with this fic wasn't to offend anyone, just write some smut with a different angle for these two. If you did enjoy this fic, please don't hesitate to leave a comment and let me know what you think, I do love to hear what my readers have to say.


End file.
